The Conversation After
by Allison'sGirlfriend
Summary: HUGE SPOILERS for HPB. Minerva and Albus talk.


The Conversation After

She managed the same grim, half smile she'd worn for the last several hours. Her lips, used to being pressed into a thin line, seemed to serve her well. No tears. Until finally she had seen the last of them out of his… her office. And that was the thought that kept her pinned to the door, facing away from his desk, as far as possible from the new portrait hanging in the room. She could hear the clattering of feet as they made their way down the spiral staircase, Scrimgeour's and Percy Weasley's, until finally the almost inaudible shuddering of the gargoyle reclaiming his place. She shook her head at the image of Weasley. Such a disappointment. But then, she'd years ago missed the signs with Pettigrew. And Snape. Damn them all anyway.

She could hear the rustling behind her. The portraits' occupants shifting uneasily in their frames, unsure of what to do with her now. She could laugh, but that would so easily become a sob that she stopped the idea immediately. Bad enough that the former headmasters and headmistresses were already questioning her ability. Her strength. Possibly her sanity. At that she did bark out a rough, raw sound which managed to fulfill her desire to laugh and her need to cry all at the same time. She pressed her face to the wood of the door and took a deep breath. She would give herself just thirty more seconds of this and then she would… .

"Minerva."

She cringed, wanting desperately to ignore the soft voice. But she was his, had been for decades upon decades, and habits of that long were hard to break. So she found herself turning automatically before she realized what she was doing. She had to twist her body, shift her gaze from the empty chair behind the desk to the portrait on the wall. She blinked, cursing herself. She would not make this any harder on him than she knew it already was.

"Minerva."

His eyes twinkled still, though not as brightly as they had for the man. The oil on the canvas could only duplicate so much. His voice was the same, comforting, calming. He was smiling, the all knowing look still about him. She took one breath and stepped away from the door, away from the possibilities that existed only in her mind for the seconds she had allowed. She came to rest in front of him, her head tilted as it had during his life when she was dreading listening to whatever it was he would say because she knew he would be right.

The image chuckled at that. He nodded his head.

"It is good to see that some things, as yet, remain the same."

"Oh, Albus."

"Now my dear, none of that. Not just yet. Please."

She shook her head. Hating him in that moment for still being able to read her so casually, so easily. Then immediately regretting the feeling and sensing the guilt overwhelming her once more.

"It was not your fault."

"I sent for him, I gave him… ."

"You did what you thought was right. You did what I would have done. It is I who made the error years ago, trusting Severus. But that discussion can wait. There is something far more important at the moment."

She looked at him expectantly; hoping beyond all reason for him to tell her what she knew would never come. For him to tell her how to go on from here, how to do what needed to be done. But as he smiled again she knew that he had other plans.

"You have done all that can be done for the moment, my dear. You have seen the children home. And you have met the Ministry's obligations. You have settled the staff and the Order for the night, at least. Now you must do something for yourself."

He ignored the snort that was second nature when it came to his plans for her personal wellbeing, as he had always done.

"You must rest. There is much to be done. But you will not be able to accomplish it all if you are exhausted."

She thought of arguing, of stalling, but she knew that would be fruitless. She couldn't burden him with the fact that she'd tried to sleep the night before and been haunted by images of the battle, his broken body, his empty chair. But she could see no other way around it; she would have to give in to him. Again. She was sure it would not be the last time either, for his power over her could extend well beyond the white marble by the lake.

"Very well, Albus. But do not presume that this means I will be heeding your next bit of advice."

They both smiled at her words, though hers was unnatural and forced. She nodded then and turned towards the stairs, but she could not imagine trying to sleep in his room. Not yet. She felt alone and vulnerable though at the thought of leaving him, or the echo of him that remained on the wall, in the very air of the room it seemed. And so she compromised. She uttered a small "nox" after lighting the fire.

There was a small pop. And the tabby cat walked with her tail in the air to the rug before the fire. She circled four times and then lowered herself, curling into a small ball. Her head resting on her front paws, tail wrapped around her body. Just as the cat was about to drift away, she heard him.

"Sleep well, my dear. Sleep well."

The End


End file.
